An Unusual Approach
by CretianStar
Summary: Day 6, Sherlock cannot understand why Molly wears his shirt in the morning. Fluffiness
1. Deductions

A/N: Okay, so this one had so many different directions that I've posted one to my tumblr (mythsandmakebelieve) as well.. because I like the variation possibilities. Also Molly is not in this one… but it's still for my OTP! Small and fluffy but I quite enjoyed writing it!

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Day 6

**Wearing Each Other's Clothes**

"Sherlock…" John had walked into the lounge of 221b Baker Street to see Sherlock in a blouse. A rather ill-fitting blouse that was just perturbing to see. There was also a pair of pumps on the end of his toes and … "Is that lipstick!?" John dumped the groceries on the counter and stared at his flat mate.

"Yes." Sherlock kept his eyes closed, hands pressed together as though in prayer but John scoffed at the notion.

"Whose is it?" John asked, Sherlock heard his tone; it was the patient one he used when John wat utterly bemused at Sherlock.

"It's Molly's." Sherlock hummed.

"Why Sherlock?" John was exasperated now.

"Well she likes wearing my shirts so I'm seeing if it works the other way round…" Sherlock cracked open an eye at John's snort. "What?" John was openly laughing now and was soon doubled up against the kitchen counter.

"Oh God Sherlock."

"Molly likes, after sex, wearing my shirt or my pyjama top or even my dressing gown with nothing on underneathand I cannot understand why."

"Sherlock… you strange man… most men do not understand why women wear their clothes, but it's a nice view. I love it when Mary wears my tops when she wakes up." John smiled, interspersed with giggles.

"I don't get it." Sherlock was now frowning but was distracted by the memory of Molly in his favourite dark purple shirt and rolled back onto the sofa without another word.

He thought of how she borrowed his shirts in the morning to make breakfast, a pair of knickers on underneath just visible beneath the dark material. He remembered with a suppressed moan the night she had been in the taxi that was taking him to his place in one of his coats and black underwear beneath. It had been so un-Molly he had secretly checked whether she was drugged or a skilled imposter. Once Sherlock had gotten over the shock and suspicion he had thoroughly enjoyed his evening.

But it still didn't explain why Molly seemed to like wearing his clothes so much; but the blouse was too tight and stretching and the pumps were cramping his toes and Sherlock had enough. Stumbling to his bedroom, he resolved to replace Molly's clothes and figure out another way of solving this puzzle.


	2. Waking Up With Sherlock Holmes

A/N: I wrote this while waiting for my next job at my internship this morning. It also means there are probably mistakes because I kept thinking my boss was behind me! Enjoy this little forbidden gem!

Day 16: Morning Rituals

**Waking Up With Sherlock Holmes**

Molly still wore his shirt after sex. Particularly when she had knew she had the late shift the next day. She strutted around either 221b or her own flat with the silken material hanging loosely over her petite frame.  
She had always hidden her body under the baggiest clothes, but dating Sherlock had made her three million times more confident. That and knowing her perusal of his shirt frustrated the life out of him. He was sweet when he was confused and the new Molly had become a real puzzle to solve.  
This particular morning a very tired Molly swiped the dark navy shirt from its place on the floor, thrown haphazardly off last night and ignored the creases in the expensive fabric. Undoing the last two buttons, she remembered tugging it off over his head in the end, she slipped the soft material over her bare shoulders and hunted around for a pair of knickers as quietly as her exhausted body would allow.  
She'd wake Sherlock anyway; it was par for the course, he was a ridicuously light sleeper and incredibly paranoid that he was at his most vulnerable then but Molly had learnt to ignore his sudden starts, roll over and go back to sleep.  
She heard his little morning snuffle, saw him blindly reach out for and sit up when he found an empty space.  
"Molly?" He grumbled and she giggled softly. Sauntering to the bed they now regularly shared she pressed a kiss to his morning curls and murmured about breakfast.  
Bleary-eyed Sherlock just about realised that she was wearing his shirt yet again and he grinned; despite his previous issues with the clothes swapping routine that only applied to Molly and _his_ shirts, John was right - there was something satisfying about seeing his girlfriend wearing his clothes.  
He grumbled, tugging on boxers Molly had chosen for him, which were a little snug but hey she got that look in her eye when he wore them so he'd suffer in silence, and slipped into the kitchen.  
Molly was standing on her tip toes staring at the cupboards with a look of sleepy concentration. The shirt had ridden up those delicious thighs and Sherlock let out a small growl, one he only just managed to disguise into a cough. But he stood behind her and pressed his lips to her neck, which made her press back into him.  
"What should we have Dr Hooper?" He whispered, nose trailing from the shell of her ear to the dip of her throat, "Perhaps we should have muesli, but I think that's a little bland for us, what about a fruit cocktail, it is summer after all." His breath was tickling her neck and sending shivers up her spine. He was using _that_ voice on her, the same voice he used to coax her into bed after a particularly gruelling day at St Bart's. He was talking about breakfast using the same voice that usually accompanied her orgasm.  
By Jove it messed her head up.  
She could barely focus on his suggestion of eggs benedict and sunk into his tone, but she knew what he wanted again and from her blindly wandering hands he was wearing the boxers that for some reason made her fancy him even more. He coiled his hair around his hand and held it up, like a bun would - he knew how much playing with her hair melted her mind.  
"Sherlock." She cleared her throat, breaking his seductive hold over her.  
"Yes?" He purred, peppering kisses over the nape of her neck.  
"We have nothing to eat." She turned and forcibly kept her eyes on his.  
He pouted and his brow furrowed.  
"What happened to all the food?" He looked up at the surprisingly bare cupboards.  
"You ate it last night. I told you I didn't have much." She smiled and then bit her lip. She watched his eyes flicker from her sudden lip movement back to her eyes which were full of laughter.  
"So you're running to the shops." He pressed his lips to her neck and again and silently enjoyed the startled moan she gave.  
"Me? Why is it always me?" She panted as his teeth nibbled at the soft skin.  
"Because I'm going to be waiting for you in bed. So hurry along." Sherlock smirked and let her go.  
Molly had revealed a passionate nature with the aloof Holmes - only for her though, there was a completely different passion that was allotted for crime and murder, but for his Molly he was a bit of animal. He also used that ginormous brain of his to wind Molly around his little finger and his smirk was wide as she rushed to pull on a skirt in preparation to nip down to the 24/7 at the end of her road.  
"Molly!" He called as she was almost out the door. She turned back with an inquisitive look. "You're wearing my shirt buttoned up wrong." Sherlock grinned and watched her raise an eyebrow.  
"Then the nice shopkeeper can let his imagination run wild." She winked and ran out the door clutching her purse while Sherlock sauntered back to bed.


End file.
